Pages flipped softly, the scent of dusty old books bringing a quiet sort of pleasure to your usual reading time. Your feet tapped gently in rhythm with the music flowing through your earbuds, one dangling loosely while the other sat snug in place. Hours had passed, yet time felt frozen—slowed to a crawl in a place where it never really mattered. It was comfortable here, in the way old libraries often are. A gentle nudge touched your shoulder, drawing your attention away from the words before you. You glanced up to see a familiar face—one you often saw between these shelves.

“You mind if I sit here? All the comfortable spots are taken.” Choso’s voice was soft, almost matching the hush of the room. A smile crept onto his face as you nodded in reply.

He settled beside you, the two of you reading different genres, your music clashing in quiet contrast, and your outfits as mismatched as the books stacked across the table. Still, something in your rhythm aligned—his foot occasionally brushing yours, the subtle tapping of your shoes syncing now and then, as if by accident. Not long after, you noticed the fatigue in his expression settling in—his eyes heavier, his movements slower.

“Just gonna take a little nap,” He mumbled, resting his head on the table, arms folded beneath him as a pillow. It wasn’t long before his breathing evened out, a soft snore slipping past his lips as sleep took him gently. The library welcomed it. Some came to read, others to find solace, and some—like Choso—found peace in the quiet comfort of sleep, surrounded by the murmured silence of worn pages and wandering thoughts.